


high hopes in velvet ropes

by yunsans



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate universe - Mafia, Anal Sex, Background Yunsan, Barebacking, Blowjobs, Bottom Jung Wooyoung, Drinking, Finger Sucking, Lap Sex, M/M, Mentions of the word pet but it's not pet play I swear, No Safeword, Not gunplay but there's a gun, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, This fic was brought to you by Seonghwa's purple velvet suit, Top Park Seonghwa, Unprotected Sex, lap dance, light exhibitionism, mafia, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-21
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-27 10:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30121437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunsans/pseuds/yunsans
Summary: “I just couldn’t keep my eyes off you, and when I caught you staring at me, I just had to know more,” Seonghwa purred, lightly grazing his fingers across the cut of Wooyoung’s jaw. “I thought you might look good sitting pretty on my lap, like a little pet. I’d love to show you off. How would you feel about that?”“What’s in it for me?”“Well, it’s not often I meet someone that makes me want to spoil them. But, you see, you’d have to prove your worth first.”—Wooyoung gets dragged to a extravagant bar with his friends, and, subsequently, lands straight into the mafia's lap—literally.
Relationships: Jung Wooyoung/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 21
Kudos: 161





	high hopes in velvet ropes

_my neon eyes are set on you;_

_the devil's language tastes of lust_

♠

Wooyoung wasn’t sure how San had convinced him to follow him to the most stuck-up bar he’d ever been to, but he found himself seated at the table with San and Yeosang, nursing a cocktail with a name he couldn’t pronounce—a drink that he had allowed San to pick out for him, before later admitting he only chose it for its enticing lavender color that matched Wooyoung’s hair. It tasted revolting.

San hadn’t actually _convinced_ him to come as much as he’d downright dragged him along whether he wanted to go or not, but he at least gave Wooyoung the option of inviting his roommate, Yeosang, along as well, who sat next to them at the stable with a judgmental half-scowl painted across his face, contesting that he’d much rather have been sitting at home playing League and sipping cheap beer. 

The place San had taken them teetered somewhere between a bar and a club, though it veered more to the bar side, despite the club-like lighting and the exclusivity of it all. Even the name of the place— _The Illusion Lounge_ —felt opulent, in a way that made Wooyoung a bit queasy. A soft glow of pink, yellow and amethyst, filtered from contemporary light fixtures over a sea of marble tables and plush VIP booths, and not one, not two, but _three_ large bar counters stocked from floor to ceiling with liquor bottles so expensive they were worth more than Wooyoung’s entire tuition. 

“This place is so disgustingly upper-class,” Yeosang muttered, tapping his own drink against the table, chic and tall with a black marble sheen and four gaudy bar stools decorating it in a circle. “Why are we here again?”

“San was too nervous to see his sugar daddy without us, I guess,” Wooyoung teased, shooting San a facetious grin. 

“ _Not_ my sugar daddy, one,” San gritted through his teeth, keeping his voice at a whisper so it didn’t reach the subject of their conversation, who was off a few paces at the bar. “And two, I can’t believe my friends are so lame they wouldn’t want to come with me to a place like _this_ . Yunho told me I could invite a few friends, and I —” A hot-pink blush dusted his cheeks, melding into the glow of the magenta-hued lights. “Look, I just like having you guys around, okay? Come on, you’re broke-ass college students, and I’m offering you _free fucking drinks_ at an invite-only bar. Look how cool this place is. You’re both buzzkills.”

Wooyoung knew San’s new boyfriend, Yunho, was their age, but it had become somewhat of a joke within their friend group to refer to him as San’s ‘sugar daddy.’ After all, he was exorbitantly rich, showering San with a wealth of gifts so early on in their relationship, as if money were an endlessly renewable resource. Wooyoung had nothing against Yunho—in fact, he was remarkably charming, based solely on the one time Wooyoung had met him before now—but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to watch his best friend cozy up to his new lovebird. 

In fact, he wasn’t in the mood to go out at all. He tried to keep the thoughts from encroaching, but no matter where he went, doing things like this reminded him a little too much of ‘he who must not be named,' which was Wooyoung’s not-so-affectionate nickname for his most recent ex—the one who shattered and stomped on his heart, leaving Wooyoung a joyless shell of cynicism and heartbreak for a little over three weeks and counting. He tried to push that away, instead opting for the fuzzy warmth that settled over him as he sipped at his cocktail, ignoring that god-awful burn. 

“Aw, someone’s shy,” Wooyoung purred, giving San’s ankle a playful nudge under the table. “You can admit you’re just worried about impressing your new boyfriend. Though, if you’re looking to impress him, I probably wouldn’t have brought _us._ ”

“Shut up.” San averted his eyes towards the bar where his sugar daddy—sorry, _boyfriend_ —stood, poised like some sort of slender catalogue model against the counter, chatting with the bartender.

There was a part of him that felt a small pang of jealousy for what San had with Yunho—not the relationship, but the benefits, _especially_ being with someone so rich. Teasing San about his sugar daddy may have been a joke, but it was always laced with a bit of venom, envy at what Wooyoung didn’t have. He couldn’t remember the last time someone bought _him_ a drink. In his last relationship, he’d always been the one who bought everything, despite eking out a meager living at his job in the campus dining hall, and the enormous piles of debt he was quickly accumulating by choosing to pursue a dance major, instead of, you know, a _real_ career. That's what his parents would say, at least. 

Wooyoung bit back a heavy sigh as swirled the remnants of his pretty lavender drink absently, watching as the liquor sloshed against the gold-rimmed glass. He’d lost his appetite quite severely during his breakup, but his pretentious cocktail burned just enough going down to know if he drank enough of it, he’d probably forget all about his ex, and his debt, though the swanky lounge only served as a looming reminder of his destitution.

“I mean, I’m having fun,” Yeosang shrugged, his dead-pan tone and blank expression in complete contradiction to his claim. “But the filthy-rich aren’t really my first choice of company. I can’t believe they even let us past the door. They could probably smell the debt on us from a mile away.”

San shot Yeosang a poisonous glance as Yunho returned to their table with two swanky-looking drinks, slipping one towards San and keeping the other for himself, then sliding into the last empty stool.

San gazed at Yunho with enamored stars sparkling in his eyes, and Wooyoung had the sudden urge to wretch—this was only San’s third _real_ date with Yunho, though he’d known him for a bit longer than that, but they already looked at each other like they were about to propose at any second. Wooyoung remembered falling down that rabbit-hole once upon a time, but now the thought only brought on a flurry of cynicism and a hint of nausea. 

Wooyoung exchanged a knowing glance with Yeosang, who looked to be thinking the exact same thing as he was. They were disgusting. 

An almost-uncomfortable silence settled between the four of them, awkwardness only alleviated by the R&B music that played at a moderate, but not obtrusive volume across the lounge. Wooyoung fingered at the stem of his glass absently, realizing he’d probably have to break the silence before he went nuts. 

“So… Yunho… I heard you go to school at that private university, what was the name...?”

“Kingston?” San cut in.

Wooyoung knew it was some obnoxiously high-class name like that. “Right. Yeah. I heard you go to Kingston.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s a really nice school,” Yunho responded, giving a humble smile, but they all knew that was a gross understatement. Yunho was stupid-rich, rich enough to somehow have a way into the most elite bar in town, and rich enough to pay for their overpriced drinks on top of it all.

“What are you studying there?”

San gave a nudge to Wooyoung’s shin under the table, shooting him a subtle glare that said something along the lines of _don’t you dare start interrogating my boyfriend,_ and Wooyoung shot him one in return that translated to, roughly, _I’m only asking him questions because this whole thing is awkward as hell and I’d much rather be home right now._ Yeosang sipped at his drink to the side, concealing his amused smile beneath the rim of his glass. 

Yunho didn’t seem to notice. “Business Law,” he answered confidently.

Right, because of course he was. 

“How do you afford it?” Yeosang chimed in shamelessly. His blunt attitude tended to get him into trouble, but it wasn’t as though they weren’t all thinking it.

San visibly tensed, gritting his teeth and shooting a deadly glare in Yeosang’s direction. “Yeosa—”

“It’s fine,” Yunho chuckled with a casual shrug. “My parents. They own a major oil company across the country, and are in the dealings to buy out a few more. They have a lot of powerful connections, which is how I’m able to get into places like this.”

“Must be nice,” Wooyoung grumbled, taking a final depleting sip of his bitter cocktail, not even attempting to conceal the salt dripping from his tone. 

Yunho seemed to brush past it easily, lowering his voice and giving it a playfully foreboding lilt. “Hey, you guys wanna know a secret about this place?”

Yeosang shrugged. “Yeah, why not?” 

Wooyoung gave a brief nod of agreement, and San only gazed at Yunho expectantly, waiting for whatever interesting confidentiality he was about to disclose.

Yunho cocked a mischievous smile as he leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper as if he were about to reveal some sort of state secret. “Look, I can’t say for sure, but… it’s rumored this place is run by the mafia.”

Wooyoung’s broke into a laugh as San’s eyes widened from across the table, turning to Yunho with an incredulous look on his face. 

“No shit,” Yeosang deadpanned, gesturing to the lofted second floor, sectioned off by a small staircase blocked off with velvet ropes. “I mean, have you seen that guy sitting up in the VIP? With that suit, he’s either the fucking Joker, or he’s in the mob.”

Wooyoung shot a glance in that direction, only hazarding a brief look before turning his attention back to the table.

San gritted his teeth, lowering his voice to a half-joking hiss. “You took us to a _mafia_ bar?” 

“Relax. I’ve been here plenty of times. It’s not like they’re actively running the mob out of here or anything,” Yunho clarified, setting a soothing hand on San’s shoulders and rubbing it in a slow circle. A jesting grin twitched up on his face. “Probably.”

San exhaled in disbelief, taking a swig of his own drink and letting it fall back to the table with a harsh clink. “Probably? Jesus Christ.” 

Wooyoung let his gaze wander back to the lofted second floor. He’d seen the blocked-off stairs when he walked in, but hadn’t paid much attention to the area until now, nor did he bother to get a decent look at what it was. It was hardly a floor as much as it was a lookout, a small area with minimal couches and glass railings, allowing its residents to overlook the entire lounge, and, more importantly now, allowed Wooyoung to see four well-dressed men sitting at the grand rounded couch, black-leather and plush like the rest of the booths on the main floor. Black-clad guards were stationed in the area around them, stiff-backed and straight-faced. Mob or not, these guys had serious influence. 

One of the men, in particular, stood out to Wooyoung. He donned a royal-purple velvet suit from head to toe, sitting cross-legged at the end of the table, admiring the main floor as if he were gazing out across his kingdom from his throne. 

That must have been the one Yeosang was talking about. 

Wooyoung didn’t mean to stare for so long, but something about him was captivating. He had a dark allure that could only be described as dangerous. He had striking features even from a distance, framed by neatly styled silver hair that fell across one eye and was slicked back on the other side. A large silver chain necklace sparkled against his golden-tanned skin just above his neckline, a vest cutting a deep, tantalizing v-shape beneath his suit jacket. He looked both like a dream and a nightmare, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but want to know more. 

“You think _he_ owns the bar?” Wooyoung asked finally, doing everything he could to tear his gaze away from the man watching. “He can’t be more than a few years older than us.”

Yunho nodded. “I heard he’s the mob boss’ son, but I could be wrong.”

Yeosang quirked an eyebrow up, leaning over to nudge Wooyoung on the shoulder. “He's kinda your type, Wooyoung.”

“Shut up.”

“You did always say you wanted to marry rich. You could settle for fucking rich instead."

Wooyoung suppressed a laugh from sputtering out, unwilling to give Yeosang the satisfaction. “Remind me why I bring you places, again?”

Yeosang wasn’t wrong, per se—wanting to marry rich _was_ an actual thing he said, on more than one occasion, though he intended it as more of a joke than anything—but he was acutely aware of Yunho sitting right across from them, whom Wooyoung wanted to make a good impression on. Yunho seemed to merely chuckle in amusement, as if he had known the two of them for years. 

“Maybe you should try to talk to him. Maybe getting some ass would help you get out of your rut."

“Oh yeah, sure, I’ll just go clamber over those ropes and accost him. That certainly won’t get me murdered,” Wooyoung played along with biting sarcasm. 

“Funny, guys, but seriously, I wouldn’t mess with him,” Yunho cut in seriously. Then, even more gravely, “I’d probably stop looking, too.”

Wooyoung forced himself to avert his eyes again, consciously avoiding the urge to sneak glanced of the velvet-suited man from his peripheral vision, but there was something spellbinding about him, almost magnetic, and Wooyoung’s eyes threatened to flicker over in his direction. He knew from his elevated position, he must have had a full view of the floor like a hawk surveying its territory, and Wooyoung could practically feel the heat of his enduring gaze as it raked across the bar floor. 

Wooyoung reached to take a sip from his drink before quickly realizing he had already finished it, so he settled for playing with the stem of his glass instead as they exchanged painfully surface-level conversation around the table. Yunho asked about what Wooyoung and Yeosang were studying, to which Wooyoung had to bite back a grimace as he admitted he was a dance major, as if that was an acceptable area of study and not a ‘pointless art degree’, as his parents so aptly called it. 

They talked about classes, about video games, about where their families were from—but, truthfully, Wooyoung couldn’t find a good common ground with Yunho. His upper-class upbringing was entirely unrelatable. At least he knew what League was, and thus dived into a heated discussion about it with Yeosang, who seemed to perk up immediately as soon as the topic was breached. 

Wooyoung found himself lost in his empty martini glass, his mind wandering everywhere and nowhere, wondering when he might be able to go home, lay in bed and maybe finally have a chance to forget about how broke and lonely he was, since this bar wasn’t doing a very good job of doing that for him.

A barely audible gasp from Yunho startled him to attention, a grave look pulling over his features as he looked to his side. Wooyoung followed his gaze to the side, where a darkly-clad man approached their table with a careful gait, wearing an emotionless expression.

As he grew closer, Wooyoung immediately recognized him as a mob security guard. There was no doubt in his mind—something about this guy _screamed_ that he’d have no problem personally executing any one of them if they even dared to look at his boss the wrong way. Yunho’s eyes went wide as he continued his approach, shooting a fleeting glance of terror to the rest of the table as if to ask which one of the four of them was about to get them kicked out. 

He stopped at the table, immediately turning to address Wooyoung directly. His heart froze in his chest, his whole body going stiff. 

The guard’s stern expression did not falter as he spoke. “Mr. Park is requesting your company upstairs.”

Wooyoung’s words caught in his throat, unable to muster out any sort of comprehensible response—not as if the guard was waiting for one. The four of them fell into complete silence around the table, and Wooyoung could have sworn he could have heard their heartbeats if any of them happened to be actually breathing. 

“M-mine?” Wooyoung managed, voice shaking as he gave a pathetic gesture towards himself, as if it wasn't apparent who he was talking to. 

The guard only nodded in confirmation before turning away, heading back in the direction of the VIP area. There was an audible gasp for air around the table, almost in unison as each one of them let go of the breath they were holding at the same time.

“What the hell did you do?” San hissed, his eyes blown wide, a shell-shocked expression unmoving from his features. 

“Nothing!” Wooyoung threw his hands up defensively. “I swear.”

Yunho seemed nervous next to him, his hands trembling as they fiddled with the mixing straw in his cocktail. “Fuck, Wooyoung. I know we were joking earlier but… I think he might actually kill you.”

“What did I do? I didn’t—I was just looking at him—”

“Sounds like you looked at him a little too long,” Yeosang chuckled at his side.

“You’re the one who was talking shit about him, saying he looked like the fucking Joker,” Wooyoung snapped back.

“I mean, I don’t doubt this whole place is wiretapped, but they asked for you, not me. Maybe he saw you staring at him like a piece of meat.”

“I wasn’t—ugh, nevermind. Shit. What do I do?” Wooyoung turned to San, narrowing his eyes. “I told you I didn’t want to fucking leave the house tonight, now I’m gonna get murdered by this fucking mafia boss. If I somehow get out of this alive, you fucking _owe_ me. Big time.”

“I don’t think you really have a choice but to go,” Yunho cut in before San, who looked like he was about to have a heart attack, could respond. “When a guy like that asks for you, you go. I think he’d _actually_ kill you if you disobeyed.”

“So, what, he kills me if I go, and he _really_ kills me if I don’t?”

“Worst case scenario,” Yunho added, as if it helped at all.

“So what's the best case, then?”

Yeosang gave a sly smile and a shrug at Wooyoung’s side, clearly not taking the prospect of Wooyoung’s imminent death as seriously as the rest of them. “Maybe he just wants some ass. Not like it would be the first time you had guys drooling all over you in a bar.”

“Oh my god,” Wooyoung exhaled, half as a response and half in pointless defeat. “Fuck, I’m gonna die.”

San shot Wooyoung a dumbstruck glance, eyebrows pinching together. “So, what, you’re actually gonna go?” 

“The way you’re looking at me like I’m actually about to get murdered is _not_ helping,” Wooyoung grumbled, letting his eyes flicker upwards towards the man who had requested him. Their eyes caught each other’s briefly, the heat of the velvet man’s gaze striking daggers through his heart. “You heard your boyfriend. I don’t really have a choice.”

“Rest in peace, man,” Yeosang laughed. “Seriously, though, text us first if you’re about to get some dick. I’m kinda curious how big it is. A guy like that is probably compensating for _something_.”

Wooyoung loved Yeosang’s bone-dry sense of humor—the two of them usually bounced off each other’s quick-wittedness in a well-matched back and forth—but right now, facing his own death, he was internally cursing himself for his choice of a best friend who refused to take anything seriously. 

Wooyoung mustered the courage to push himself up from his seat. “If you don’t hear from me, uh… tell my parents I love them, or something.”

He was half-joking. He didn’t actually expect this mafia guy to pull out a gun and shoot him right there, but there was nothing to convince his mind that he wasn’t walking into his own death as he made his way towards the guarded staircase. The purple and pink lights were dizzying, melding with a gentle pulse of ambers and greens floating across the dance floor. He pushed through the crowd, and he couldn't be sure if he was just imagining it, but he was almost certain he saw the velvet man’s gaze follow him from his peripheral, though he tried not to directly glance up. 

The gentle buzz from his first cocktail all but faded from his system, leaving him horrifyingly sober as he slowly unhooked the rope at the base of the glass staircase. He felt like he would be shot down for even daring to touch the velvet barrier with his filthy commoner hands, as though all eyes in the bar fell over him and him only. His heart thrummed in his chest as he ascended the staircase, knowing full well the man was watching him as he approached. 

He had absolutely no clue what a man like him, the owner of a bar and a rumored member of the fucking _mafia,_ would want with Wooyoung, if not to threaten him for daring to let his gaze linger in his direction for too long. It was true that Wooyoung had a tendency to draw the attention of men at clubs and bars—before he’d started dating his ex, at least—but a man like _this_ wasn’t who he usually attracted. Once upon a time, though, he was quite the seductress. 

He even dressed up nicely for their outing tonight, for the first time in a while. He’d been living in the same combination of sweats and pit-stained hoodies for the past month, swimming in his own depressed funk, and San practically begged him to clean himself up for their fancy night out—and Wooyoung wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. 

He wasn’t exactly planning on impressing anyone, but he and San had always been competitive in their friendship, and he had made it his personal goal to look even better than San—or try, at least. It was hard to keep up with San’s model-esque charms, since he could pull off any outfit he wanted. It wasn’t fair, frankly, but that didn’t stop Wooyoung from attempting to one-up him.

He chose a silky, muted turquoise blouse, subtle enough to be almost pastel. The color complimented his freshly touched-up lavender hair nicely, and he tucked the shirt in at the front into a pair of neatly fitted black jeans. He paired his outfit, finally, with heeled black ankle-high boots that clacked against the shiny bar floor and felt almost dangerous as he ascended the delicate glass stairs. He’d even done his eye makeup like he used to when he went clubbing, a thin line of eyeliner around a carefully smudged deep-wine eyeshadow, bordering his eyes in a sultry halo.

Wooyoung paused when his foot fell down on the top step, taking in the scene in front of him with a deep breath. The VIP section was much more expansive than he originally thought when he’d examined it from below. Guards were stationed in various areas around the floor, although there were only four occupants: the velvet-clad man—Mr. Park—and three other men who seemed to be around his age, all dressed as though they were in the mob, as well. 

Wooyoung had the opportunity to take in the details of Mr. Park as he approached, his purple velvet suit even more lavish up close, if that were possible. The v-line of the vest that dipped down his chest drew Wooyoung’s gaze downwards, admiring his rich caramel skin, which flushed a beautiful warm tone under the marbled pink and purple lights. Silver earrings adorned his ears, and his lithe fingers were decorated with sundry rings as they rested in his lap. One leg crossed over the other as he leaned back against the dark leather, waiting.

Wooyoung became hyper-aware of his own hands as he approached the curved couch, wondering if his nervous gait looked awkward, and suddenly all eyes were on him. He wanted to sink into the tile and disappear—he was used to turning heads in clubs, and usually coveted the attention, but not like _this_. 

And, fuck, if this mafia guy wasn’t the most breathtaking man he’d ever seen. He stared at him with dark, hungry eyes, as if Wooyoung were some sort of prey. He couldn’t parse his icy expression, but his piercing eyes watched Wooyoung as he made his final approach, standing awkwardly in front of him, hyper aware of his vulnerability. 

The three on the other side of the large couch seemed to grow uninterested just as quickly as they had expressed interest in the first place, turning their gazes away to engage in their own conversation. 

There was an uncomfortable beat of silence as the man rested his elbow against the couch’s curved arm, placing his fist delicately beneath his chin as his index finger traced along his jawline. There was enough time for Wooyoung to wonder if he was expected to say something first before the man parted his lips, something dark glinting in his eyes. 

His voice was deep, devastatingly rich as his words dripped off his tongue. “I noticed you staring.” 

Wooyoung’s heart froze in his chest under his icy stare. His own lips parted slightly to speak, but his words caught in his throat, puffing out a useless ‘ _uh’_ in place of any real response. 

The man hummed, tilting his head to the right. “I thought I’d offer you a drink, and maybe you could tell me why.”

Before Wooyoung could accept, the man raised his eyes to somewhere across the room, wagging his index finger in a beckoning motion. He slid away from the end of the couch, patting at the empty space. “Would you like to sit?”

It was phrased as a question, but it felt more like an order than anything. Wooyoung obeyed hesitantly, taking a slow seat on the cool leather. A hostess popped up at the side of the couch the moment he sat down, waiting expectantly for Wooyoung’s drink order. 

His mind went blank as he searched his mind for possible cocktails, before recalling the drink that Yunho had ordered, a candy-red cherry Cosmopolitan that had looked mouthwatering. The hostess nodded and bowed away, leaving Wooyoung again in silence. He was remarkably close to Mr. Park now, his own knees nearly kissing his velvet-coated thighs. 

He felt the man’s gaze rake across his body, lingering with unnerving thoroughness, as if deciding something—probably whether or not to kill him. 

Wooyoung started this time, desperate to cut through the tension. “You wanted—you wanted to know why I was looking at you.”

“Mm,” the man hummed, gaze unwavering. “First things first, though. Your name.”

“Oh—uh—Wooyoung,” he stuttered, stupidly.

“Seonghwa,” the man answered with his own, and the calm tone of his voice would have almost been soothing if not his intimidating demeanor. “Park Seonghwa. I’m sure my reputation precedes me, though I wouldn’t worry too much about me. I’m more interested in learning about you.”

Wooyoung bit his lip, dropping his gaze. “I mean, honestly, this kind of place… it isn’t my usual scene, that’s all.”

A slight twitch of amusement turned upwards on Seonghwa’s lips. “And that’s why you were staring?” 

“I guess.”

“Well, what do you think?” Seonghwa asked, and Wooyoung tilted his head slightly in response, furrowed eyebrows betraying confusion. “Of my bar. It’s quite nice, isn’t it?” 

“Like I said, it’s not particularly my scene,” Wooyoung repeated, suddenly regretting how rude it sounded as it slipped out. His company fell silent on the other end of the couch, tensing as if waiting for their boss to snap.

Wooyoung’s heart dropped in his chest at the sinister aura that clouded the air, but it was only a brief moment before Seonghwa cracked a wicked grin, letting out a laugh, which only barely helped Wooyoung relax.

“I had a feeling that might be the case,” he hummed as his laughter died out, causing a wave of relief to wash over Wooyoung’s body. He leaned in, letting his warm breath wash across Wooyoung’s ear as he spoke, voice lowered to a sultry whisper. “You know, I had my eye on you since you walked in. There’s something… eye-catching about you.”

Wooyoung’s heart skipped a beat in his chest—this time, not because of his icy gaze, but under the charm of his fabricated warmth, by his honeyed words and velvet riches.

“I just couldn’t keep my eyes off you, and when I caught you staring at me, I just had to know more,” he continued, lightly grazing his fingers across the cut of Wooyoung’s jaw. “I thought you might look good sitting pretty on my lap, like a little pet. I’d love to show you off. How would you feel about that?”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened, once again completely caught off guard in a wild twist of events he could have never predicted in a million years. This powerful, exorbitantly rich man had called Woyooung up to… be some sort of trophy pet? 

Strangely, the idea didn’t actually seem so bad, all things considered. There was something strangely tempting not just about his offer, but also about _him_ —about Seonghwa. Everything about him was intriguing, harboring a dark allure that piqued Wooyoung’s interest from the very beginning. This certainly wasn’t what he expected when San had dragged him out to the most pretentious bar he’d ever been in, and it was even further, somehow, from what he expected when Seonghwa had sent his guard to call him up to the loft, but he was listening—intently.

“What’s in it for me?” Wooyoung asked after a moment as Seonghwa pulled back, moving away from Wooyoung’s ear to meet his gaze with a familiar dark glimmer.

“Well, it’s not often I meet someone that makes me want to spoil them,” Seonghwa purred, grazing his fingertips across Wooyoung’s thigh. A shiver rocketed down his spine, and goosebumps prickled at his skin beneath the sleeves of his silky blouse. “But, you see, you’d have to prove your worth first.”

Seonghwa was deeply captivating, and he spoke with a honeyed lilt despite the danger that exuded from every inch of him. Wooyoung considered himself a master of seduction back in his early-college clubbing days. He could have men wrapped around his finger with a flirtatious wink and a twirl of his hair between his fingers—but this man was on an entirely different level. Wooyoung had felt it even from below, when he’d laid eyes on him for the first time. He had a certain magnetism, as if pulling Wooyoung under his spell. He dripped with power—not just his voice, not just the way he commanded his words, but the way he sat, posed delicately and yet authoritatively, a dominating stance despite his graceful build. 

“What are you suggesting?” 

“Why don’t you pour some more champagne for my boys, here? Then we’ll see if you’re more than just a pretty face.”

That sounded like a challenge—and Wooyoung wasn’t one to back away from challenges. Pouring drinks seductively was a piece of cake for him. In fact, turning daily activities into flirtation devices was something he prided himself on. He knew how to turn heads with a swish of his hips and a hand carding through his hair, but it wasn’t a skill he had exercised in a long time. 

There was something else, too—something in Seonghwa’s voice that caused him to think he didn’t expect Wooyoung to impress him. That, coupled with a presumptuous arrogance to his sugar-coated praises, made Wooyoung want to wipe the smug grin off his face. And he knew exactly how to do it. 

“Okay,” he agreed simply. 

Seonghwa gave a friendly smile, but something about it was almost condescending. “You came with a group of friends, right?” he asked, amusement glinting in his dark eyes. “What would they think about you playing pet with me, hmm?”

Wooyoung shrugged, cocking his own playful smirk. “I’m not sure, why don’t we find out?”

“Good answer,” Seonghwa hummed, and Wooyoung could feel the heat of Seonghwa’s gaze like a flame as he pushed himself up from the couch. 

A small champagne cart was positioned in front of the couch, slightly offset from the coffee table that sat in the middle of the arch. The other three lifted their gazes as Wooyoung sauntered towards it, plucking one of the expensive bottles of champagne from the closest bucket of ice. Four depleted champagne flutes decorated the middle table, one in front of each of them. The rest of the party’s conversation died down slowly as Wooyoung turned on his heels, giving it a little flare as he spun around, and Seonghwa’s wicked gaze followed him as he strolled intently towards the far end of the couch, delicately lifting the first glass between his fingers. 

He tipped the bottle, already open when he’d taken it from the cart, letting the bottle’s neck kiss the rim of the glass as he poured, arching his back slightly, exaggerating every movement with graceful motions, using his dancer’s body as it was meant to be. He supposed that dance degree was worth it, if it meant securing a position with such a powerful—and, more importantly—rich man. After all, it was unfair for San to be the only one to secure himself a sugar daddy—sorry, _boyfriend_.

As he poured the second glass, fluttering his eye-lashes at the man in front of him—a short man with a thin frame but a commanding presence, and short navy blue hair styled over a trim undercut—he realized he was, for the first time since his breakup, truly enjoying himself. No, scratch that—for the first time since getting into a relationship in the first place. 

This was his element. This was where he shined.

“Pretty enough for you?” Wooyoung purred in Seonghwa’s direction, setting the glass back down with a delicate clink. 

The navy-haired man answered instead, a sharp smile pulling across his lips as he glanced over at Seonghwa, then back to Wooyoung, adjusting his large leopard-print coat on his shoulders. “With the way he’s been watching you this whole time, I’d say that’s an understatement.”

“Yeah, Hwa, seems like you really like this one,” the red-haired one chimed in at his side with a teasing chuckle. He looked, physically, the most dangerous out of all of them, tattoos painted across every inch of his deeply tanned skin starting from his neck, but he had a youthful charm beneath his hard exterior. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen you so interested before.”

Seonghwa remained collected despite their obvious provocation, simply taking in Wooyoung’s charms as he poured the third flute of champagne. As he moved to Seonghwa’s glass, he noticed the cherry-red drink he ordered had been placed by Seonghwa’s seat, a pretty Cosmopolitan in a martini glass with tiny crystals of sugar decorating the rim and a maraschino cherry poised at the edge. 

An idea sparked in Wooyoung’s mind as he recalled a party trick that, once upon a time, he had been quite notorious for. 

“Mm, is that so?” Wooyoung hummed, giving his voice a saccharine timbre as he filled Seonghwa’s glass with the remnants of the bottle, filling it up a neat two-thirds.

He didn’t even give Seonghwa the chance to reach for his drink before Wooyoung threw a leg over his lap, watching the collected expression on Seonghwa’s face falter momentarily in place of surprise. He straddled Seonghwa’s lap confidently, ass digging into the plush velvet suit as he sunk down and planted himself firmly against his thighs. He leaned back to reach for the table behind him, tipping his chin back to give Seonghwa a peek of his sharp jawline on his way down. He was able to lean back quite significantly thanks to his strong core from a life of dance training, and his torso was practically horizontal as he plucked the cherry from his Cosmo.

One of the boys gave an impressed whistle at the other end of the couch—clearly, Wooyoung was the first of Seonghwa’s playthings to pull a trick like this. He braced one hand on the back of the couch as he pulled himself back up, letting his fingers dig into the cool leather. His back arched slightly, dangling the cherry just above Seonghwa’s lips with the other hand. 

A devilish look of realization dawned over Seonghwa’s features. Seonghwa parted his lips to accept the cherry, wrapping his tongue around it, drawing it into his mouth, then closing his teeth to yank the fruit from its stem. 

And, just like that, Wooyoung had Seonghwa very literally eating out of the palm of his hand—well, his fingers. He looked absolutely devastating as he did it, the bright-red cherry syrup shimmering on the surface of his lips and staining them a tantalising hot pink. 

He wasn’t done yet. Before Seonghwa could respond to his little show, Wooyoung let his own tongue peek out from between his lips, and he opened his mouth just enough to slip the cherry stem in. He twisted his tongue expertly, first forming the loop, then using his teeth to hold the stem steady, hidden behind his lips as he tied the knot off and secured it carefully. Seonghwa watched in collected fascination, teeth clamping down absently on his lower lip. Wooyoung could see the fragments of restrained lust sparkling just beneath the surface. 

He gave a cheeky wink as he stuck his tongue out, revealing the tiny stem tied in a loose knot. 

“Impressive,” Seonghwa said calmly, though there was the slight hint of conflict in his gaze as he watched Wooyoung pinch the knotted stem between his fingers and toss it to the side. 

Wooyoung leaned Seonghwa’s ear, lowering his voice to a sultry whisper. “That’s nothing.”

Wooyoung moved to get up, swinging one leg over before pushing himself to his feet, but he felt two strong hands tug him back down against Seonghwa’s thigh. “You proved you can look pretty pouring drinks, but let’s see if you can sit pretty for me, hm?” 

Wooyoung reached towards the table for his drink, swiping it towards him and picking up the stem delicately between his fingers. “I can do more than that.”

“Eager little thing, aren’t you? Cute,” Seonghwa cooed as he rubbed his palm along Wooyoung’s jeans, teasing at his inner thigh with firm strokes. 

It became apparent very quickly that Seonghwa was only interested in absently toying with him while he chatted with his friends, keeping his hand resting against Wooyoung’s thigh so he could trail his fingertips in torturously light circles across the surface. Wooyoung knew exactly what he was doing—it wasn’t just a test, it was a claim. It was a display of ownership. Seonghwa truly meant it when he said he wanted to show Wooyoung off. 

Wooyoung didn’t mind much that Seonghwa had turned his attention elsewhere for a bit, because it gave Wooyoung a much needed breather to sip at his drink and consider his options. He was also suddenly acutely aware of his very visible position on Seonghwa’s lap, and the fact that San, Yeosang and Yunho had probably watched the entire thing happen.

He peered downwards past the glass barrier that separated the lofted VIP area from the main bar—it gave him a near perfect view of the entire lounge, and he could see why Seonghwa spent his time up here. He had complete control.

Yeosang was still seated at their table, scrolling through his phone. Yunho had whisked San away to the dance floor, apparently forgetting all about Wooyoung in the midst of young love. He fished his phone from his pocket, wondering if they’d been trying to talk to him in their group chat—Wooyoung had been so distracted playing Seonghwa’s little games he’d almost forgotten who he came with in the first place. 

_345 new messages._

Dear god. 

He thumbed past the notification screen, then scrolled through the unending stream of messages flooding their group chat. He didn’t have time to read through them all, and half of them were just Yeosang spamming smirk emojis and San losing his mind through keysmashes, but he was able to pick up on some of the highlights. 

  
  


**san:** wait should we call the police

 **san:** do the police work on the mob 

**san:** fuck do you think the POLICE are in on it????

 **san:** we need a signal 

**sangie:** do finger guns if you think ur gonna die 

**sangie:** oh when u die can I have ur xbox

 **san:** just don’t let him take you to a secondary location

 **sangie:** unless it’s his bedroom 

**san:** fuck he probably has a gun

 **san:** he probably has like, five 

**san:** also pls don’t listen to yeosang 

**san:** WAIT WHAT THE FUCK ARE U DOING

 **san:** WOOYOUN G W HAT THE FUCKK ????%$#^

 **sangie:** don’t tell me youre actually gonna fuck him holy shit 

**sangie:** if u fuck the mafia boss i stg 

**sangie:** I TOLD U 

**sangie:** HE JUST WANTED SOME ASS

 **san:** no way no fucking way 

**san:** give us a signal if you’re being held hostage 

**san:** dear god my eyes 

**sangie:** does this mean I don’t get ur xbox then or 

**sangie:** OMG wait does this mean you’ll tell us how big his dick is 

**sangie:** i bet it’s tiny

 **sangie:** i bet its itty bitty 

**san:** fuck i did NOT need to see you grinding on his dick like that wtf 

**sangies:** sannies just a prude

 **sangies:** he’s jealous bc his sugar daddy isn’t in the mafia that’s fucking sick 

**san:** I can’t look anymore

They seemed to have given up now, as evidenced by their slowly dying group chat, and the way San looked to be enjoying himself on the dance floor with Yunho. Yeosang sat back lazily in his chair, probably playing games on his phone, uninterested. He did feel a little bad for dragging Yeosang along only to abandon him, but it _was_ Yeosang who had encouraged him to ‘get some ass.’

Besides, Wooyoung was way too far gone to turn back now. Seonghwa may have been acting distracted, ignoring him completely to make conversation with his friends—conversation Wooyoung had tuned out entirely—but he could feel the way Seonghwa’s fingers grazed across his thighs, toying with him in a way that felt carefully designed. It was part of the game.

Seonghwa wasn’t done with him yet—and neither was Wooyoung.

He was unrealistically calm and collected, that familiar emotionless expression holding steady on his features. Wooyoung grew impatient. 

Wooyoung slipped his phone back into his pocket after sending a quick text in the group chat to reassure his company he would be getting out of this alive—probably. Seonghwa pressed the pads of his fingers against Wooyoung’s inner thigh, squeezing with gentle pressure. It was almost as if he was going out of his way to avoid Wooyoung’s eyes at all costs, ignoring him in all ways but his absent touch. 

Wooyoung bet he could get him to break. That was his specialty, after all.

Wooyoung leaned in until his warm breath was close enough to wash across Seonghwa’s neck as he whispered only just loud enough for Seonghwa to hear. “You said you wanted me to sit and look pretty for you, but I don’t see you looking at me.” 

Seonghwa puffed out a half-amused laugh. “It’s cute that you think you’re here for _me_ to look at. I’m showing you off, darling.”

Wooyoung knew that was a lie—he could tell by the way Seonghwa’s fingers resisted digging hungrily into the meat of his toned thighs, and the careful avoidance of his eyes was less than natural. Wooyoung could tell Seonghwa wanted to look, but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. He saw right through him.

Wooyoung let his lips linger across the surface of Seonghwa’s neck, lower lip brushing against his skin. “You know, I’m sure I could find someone who actually appreciates my looks if you won’t.”

“Are you saying you’re just gonna get up and leave?” 

“I’m saying…” Wooyoung ghosted his lips just above the surface of Seongwa’s sharp jaw as he moved up to whisper against Seonghwa’s ear. “If you’re just going to waste my time, I’m sure I could find any number of guys in this place that’ll fuck me better than you could.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Seonghwa purred, his subtle smirk evident in his tone. “I haven’t even decided if you’re worth _my_ time yet.”

Wooyoung’s empty glass lolled between his fingers, empty save for the ring of sugar dusting the rim. 

_The sugar._

Wooyoung was a fucking genius. 

He swiped his index finger around the rim slowly, collecting the dazzling granules of sugar, then sat the glass against the marbled black side-table. It connected with a delicate _clink_ as Wooyoung swung his leg around Seonghwa’s lap again, feeling that satisfying plush velvet beneath his ass again as he sunk down against his thighs.

Seonghwa’s eyes widened with realization the minute Wooyoung lifted his finger to his mouth, swiping a few granules across his lower lip before letting his finger part his lips for him, slowly accepting his sugared finger against his tongue. Seonghwa’s eyes darkened, his composure unraveling almost imperceptibly. Wooyoung swirled his tongue around the tip of his finger, then dipped it into his mouth fully before sealing his lips a tight O-shape around it. He sucked it clean as he pulled it out slowly, leaving a lewd string of saliva connecting to his lower lip. 

“Still don’t think it’s worth it?”

The navy haired man erupted into a sinister chuckle at the other end of the couch. “Fuck, Hwa, that’s a new one.”

The lightbulb flashed bright in Wooyoung’s head as Seonghwa’s friend spoke, finally piecing it all together in his head. Seonghwa wasn’t just toying with him for fun, and the hand that hadn’t left Wooyoung’s thigh wasn’t just part of the show. 

He was possessive. He didn’t just want Wooyoung as a pretty pet to show off to his friends, his guards, and the bar below. His touch had a purpose. It was a warning—a warning to everyone that he’d chosen him, claimed Wooyoung as his. He wasn’t showing off Wooyoung like a trophy, he was showing him off as his pet. He was claiming his property. 

Wooyoung flashed a coy smile as Seonghwa’s eyes went wide, and Wooyoung could feel the hard bulge growing beneath his velvet suit. He wasn’t sure what came over him—he was known for his competitive nature, especially when it came to his sexual endeavors, but it had never manifested so shamelessly before. 

He was too far gone to turn back now—not that he wanted to—and he knew exactly what he needed to do now to push Seonghwa over the edge. 

“I don’t know what you think you’re—”

Wooyoung ground down against Seonghwa’s crotch, circling his hips boldly. He felt fingernails dig into his thighs through his jeans, the sting only spurring him on. “You could fuck me right here, but I think your boys might like the view a little too much, don’t you?”

Seonghwa gritted his teeth, and Wooyoung shot a roguish glance at his friends, who were watching with amused expressions. He had to admit, he loved the attention, and his drink had him just buzzed enough to drop his inhibitions. 

“Unless…” Wooyoung dropped a hand to Seonghwa’s crotch, brushing across the warm velvet forming into a firm bulge beneath his fingertips. “You want them to watch?” Seonghwa’s eyebrows pinched together beneath his side-swept silver bangs, but Wooyoung wasn’t ready for his response yet. “Or… if you don’t want to… maybe I’ll just ask one of them, instead. What would you say, boys?”

“Sounds tempting. Want me to take him off your hands, Hwa?” the man with the dark red hair teased, playing along. Wooyoung knew how transparent his intentions were—they could see right through his bluff, amused smiles curling up on their lips, but it didn’t matter as long as it worked on Seonghwa.

And it did.

He watched Seonghwa’s eyes grow darker, teeth gritting together as he visibly unraveled. “VIP room.”

“Hmm?” 

His voice was a low growl from his throat. “VIP room. Now.”

Wooyoung couldn’t help but flash a smug smile as he slipped off Seonghwa’s lap. Seonghwa pulled off from his seat on the leather couch, the flat heels of his shiny black shoes snapping against the tile with a sharp, angry _clack_ , and Wooyoung stifled another smile. 

Seonghwa clamped a firm hand around Wooyoung’s forearm, tugging him wordlessly towards one of the many doors lining the back walls, each marked with a number engraved in gold. They went to the one marked “Suite #1” in classy script lettering, and Wooyoung stepped inside with a look of awe. 

The room itself was just as lavish as the lounge, if not more so. It was decorated with the same low purple lights, slightly more dim than the bar. The room dripped luxury from floor-to-ceiling, and, though he had been cynical about the snobbish aura of the bar, he couldn’t deny this place had a tempting charm. 

Seonghwa made his way towards the couch, which was large and decadent, coated in the same rich velvet as his suit, though it was closer to red than the deep purple Seonghwa donned. He almost looked like he belonged exclusively in this room, as if the room had been built just for him. His creamy skin took on an irresistible shimmer beneath the low lights, and now that he finally stood up, Wooyoung was able to get a good look at his lithe frame. His legs were long, creating a long line up to his thin waist, and he looked closer to a model than a member of the mob. Even the way he stood, casually, looked as if he were posing for a catalogue. 

He took a seat on the couch, silently beckoning for Wooyoung to follow. His first instinct would have been to straddle his lap against, grind against his crotch and pull him in for a heated kiss, but that wouldn’t have been quite as fun as his second idea. 

The sensuous R&B filtering through the lounge speakers was even louder in the room, unmuffled by the bustling bar crowd, and his dancer instincts to follow the rhythm of the music kicked in as he sauntered towards Seonghwa, a devilish smile pulling up on his lips. 

“You pulled quite the stunt out there,” Seonghwa said, his deep voice rich and smooth like caramel. 

Wooyoung leaned over, still standing, to press his palms against Seonghwa’s thighs, stroking the luscious velvet beneath his fingers. “I have a lot of tricks up my sleeve.” He leaned in further, brushing his lips against the shell of Seonghwa’s ear. “You can look all you want, but don’t touch, alright? It’s more fun that way.”

Seonghwa gave a puzzled expression, eyebrows pinching slightly, but Wooyoung simply smiled back as he moved slowly from the right to the left of Seonghwa’s body, letting his fingertips trail down the arms of his suit, traveling across his chest and twisting in his carefully-styled hair. 

He was almost ashamed to admit this was not his first lap dance—it wasn’t even his tenth. He had it down to a science, and it always started slow. So, _so_ , slow. 

“Mm, you know you’re pretty, don’t you?” Seonghwa purred, an amused glint sparkling in his eyes. 

“I’ve been told once or twice,” Wooyoung responded with feigned demure and a subtle shrug of his shoulders. He grazed his fingertips down the exposed V-line plunging down Seonghwa’s chest. His skin was impossibly smooth, and Wooyoung had the urge to lean down and lick a stripe up from his sternum… 

The thought would have to wait. The slow bass of the music called to him, beckoning his hips into a slow sway as he swung his leg up onto the velvet couch to straddle Seonghwa’s lap for the third time that night. Except, this time, he didn’t sink down. Instead, he lingered just over the surface, refusing to drop his hips fully as he rolled his hips to the rhythm of the music. 

Seonghwa’s hungry gaze raked over him, all hooded eyes and lustrous pink lips, skin flushed neon hues of lilac and ruby beneath the lights. Wooyoung was tempted to lean in, press wet kisses against his smooth skin, but he resisted in favor of swishing his hips just above the soft velvet adorning his graceful thighs. 

The bass drummed around him, and he pressed down lightly, swinging his ass across Seonghwa’s lap, channeling his inner stripper. He’d taken a pole-dancing class once before, for fun, and he had to admit, he was the best in the class. He reveled in the low growl that rolled out of Seonghwa’s throat as he finally ground his hips down against the crotch of his suit, rubbing circles against the bulge of his cock straining in the velvet. 

“Fuck,” Seonghwa cursed under his breath, fists clenching at his sides. Wooyoung couldn’t help but crack a sinful smile at how much he seemed to be driving Seonghwa wild, shifting the control back into his hands.

The tempo slowed, and Wooyoung adjusted his pace, swirling his ass against Seonghwa’s thighs in the slowest motions possible. The music almost seemed to swell louder in the speakers as he lost himself in the sound. He rolled his body from his chest to his hips, a fun trick he’d picked up in his classes. 

As the song came to a close, he used the lull to slide back off Seonghwa’s lap until the next song rose in the speakers—and, fuck, it was absolutely perfect for his next show. 

He started at the top of his blouse, removing the buttons ever so slowly, drawing out every movement with a slow sway of his hips, maintaining confident eye contact as he began to strip his blouse off his shoulders. He teased his collarbone first, and Seonghwa’s tongue absently drew across his lower lip, a dangerous hunger gleaming in his eyes. He let the silky fabric fall down to his elbows, following the pulsating bass of the music, letting his body roll in waves. His seafoam blouse fluttered to the ground, and he watched Seonghwa’s face carefully as he took in Wooyoung’s figure. 

He may have been eating poorly in the weeks after his breakup, but he knew he looked good. It was a natural consequence of his career choice, and sweating it out in the dance studio six days a week certainly paid off now as he watched the stone-faced mafia boss unravel before him. 

“Like what you see? Should I keep going?” Wooyoung cooed with a self-indulgent lilt, turning around so he was facing away from Seonghwa’s lap. Seonghwa parted his legs as Wooyoung backed up against him, swishing his ass in circles just above the cock straining in his suit. 

Seonghwa stayed silent, his eager acceptance of Wooyoung grinding against his lap all the praise Wooyoung needed to keep going. 

Wooyoung knew he would break at some point, but he still let out a little gasp of surprise as Seonghwa gripped his hips with hungry force, tugging Wooyoung down hard against his crotch at the same time he rutted his hips up, letting his cock dig into Wooyoung’s ass. Wooyoung cracked a smirk, though Seonghwa couldn’t see it. 

His fingernails dug angry crescents into Wooyoung’s waist as he pressed his lips against the back of Wooyoung’s neck, sucking at the skin as if he’d been holding himself back for hours. He mouthed wet kisses down to the nape of his neck, then let his lips travel across Wooyoung’s shoulder. Wooyoung let out a moan as Seonghwa delivered tiny bites to his sensitive skin, and he melted down against his lap. 

“I said don’t touch,” Wooyoung whispered through shallow breaths, but they both knew his words held no weight—he was just waiting for Seonghwa to disobey, to lose control. 

Seonghwa spoke between escalating kisses, warm breath sending washing over the back of Wooyoung’s neck and sending chills rolling down his spine. “Mm, want me to stop?”

Wooyoung simply exhaled the beginning of a chuckle, the heavy breath melding into a moan as it left his lips, which said everything it needed to. Seonghwa’s hands explored his waist as he suctioned his lips against Wooyoung’s skin, sucking with so much desperation that Wooyoung was sure he’d leave the room painted with bruises. 

“Must be hot in that suit,” Wooyoung breathed with a playful exhale, trying not to squirm as Seonghwa’s palm brushed across his cock through his jeans.

Seonghwa lifted his lips away from Wooyoung’s neck to speak low against the shell of his ear. “Are you saying you want me to take it off?” 

Wooyoung shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Seonghwa pressed his weight down on heels and began to stand up, nudging Wooyoung off his lap in the process. He wasted no time pressing down on Wooyoung’s shoulders, prompting him to sink to his knees obediently. Seonghwa stood in front of him with a domineering stance, pinching the royal velvet just beneath the collar of his suit jacket to slide it off his shoulders. A glint of metallic silver sparkling in the low lights caught Wooyoung’s attention, and his gaze fell over the object sheathed in the waistband of his suit—a gun.

Seonghwa slipped it out before he had a moment to register what was happening, pointing the barrel towards his forehead.

Wooyoung’s breath hitched in his throat, and he flinched on instinct. He drew his gaze up, his body frozen beneath him as he noted the sinister smile that twisted on Seonghwa’s face. “You pull a gun on everyone you sleep with?”

He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol loosening him of inhibition or the high of his arousal, but he somehow didn’t feel scared as he probably should have as he felt the cold metal muzzle of the gun kiss against his forehead.

Seonghwa gave a shrug, tossing the uncocked pistol to the side, and it tumbled away to the other end of the couch. “Only the ones who want it. Don’t worry, love, the safety’s on.” He unbuttoned the rest of his vest as Wooyoung caught his breath. Seonghwa only chuckled with a dark edge. “Seems like you forgot who you’re dealing with. Or... you didn’t know?”

“Mafia, right?” Wooyoung contended, and Seonghwa’s silence indicated the rumor was true. It wasn’t as if he had any doubt in the first place, though. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Perhaps you should be.” Seonghwa discarded his velvet vest, finally exposing the torso that had been hidden beneath his suit—lean and perfectly sculpted, the perfect hint of abs peeking out from his stomach. His index finger drew along Wooyoung’s lower lip, tilting his head slightly as he admired the view of Wooyoung knelt in front of him. “Mm, I knew you’d make a pretty pet.”

Wooyoung flashed a cheeky smile. “Does that mean I got the job?” 

“Cute. We’ll see.” Seonghwa pressed the pads of his fingers against Wooyoung’s lips, using barely any pressure to part them. “Quite a mouth you have on you. Why don’t you show me how you use it, hmm? Prove you’re good enough to take my cock.”

Wooyoung accepted the two fingers into his mouth eagerly, swirling his tongue around them and slicking them with a thick coating of saliva. Seonghwa pressed in deep, letting his fingers prod at the back of Wooyoung’s throat, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but cough out a gag against the pressure. He sealed his lips around the base of Seonghwa’s fingers, pulling back and letting them slide out up to the fingernail before accepting them back in, working his mouth around them as if they were Seonghwa’s cock.

“That’s it, baby,” Seonghwa praised darkly, hooded eyelids betraying lust as he took in the sight of Wooyoung below him, taking his fingers to the base as if he were sucking his cock. 

Wooyoung glanced up, meeting Seonghwa’s gaze with his own. He fluttered his eyelashes with as much submissive charm as he could muster, then let his eyes drift close, leaning into the action with every inch of his body. He gave a lewd moan around Seonghwa’s fingers, putting on a hell of a show. An indecipherable look painted his expression when Wooyoung cracked opened his eyelids. 

Seonghwa pulled his fingers out, and Wooyoung kept his lips sealed until the very end, allowing him to pull off with a cheeky _pop_. Seonghwa began to unbuckle his belt, and Wooyoung took that as his cue to pull off Seonghwa’s suit trousers with eager fingers, undoing the button and the zipper before hooking his fingers beneath the waistband and tugging them down. His briefs slipped down with him, exposing his hard cock from beneath his suit. 

Dear god. It was somehow even more beautiful than Seonghwa himself, pretty and modelesque, smooth and peachy with a graceful curve leading up to the head, which was shiny and lustrous with leaking precome. He’d have to tell Yeosang later—he couldn’t have been more wrong. Seonghwa may have been compensating for something, but it _wasn’t_ the size of his dick.

Wooyoung shifted on his knees, letting them dig into the plush pink carpet beneath them, soft like the velvet that lined most of the room. Wooyoung grasped at the base firmly, leaning forward to give a soft kitten-lick to the tip of the head, swiping his tongue against the slit to lap up the droplets. A soft growl came through Seonghwa’s throat above him as he began swirling his tongue with firm pressure around the head. 

It had been a long time since he’d had his tongue on a cock—his sex life with his ex fell through the floor long before they ever broke up, and he hadn’t exactly felt in the mood to suck any guys off since—but it was as if the former cock-hungry ho inside of him resurfaced with a vengeance as he remembered the addicting feeling, the slightly salty tinge of the skin, the satisfying noises he drew out from Seonghwa as he laved his tongue from base to tip. 

He felt Seonghwa’s fingers tangle in his hair, tightening as Wooyoung formed his lips around the base, accepting his cock fully, then began to bob his head in twisting motions, hand still curled at the base firmly. Seonghwa bucked his hips in, rutting against his face to match his rhythm. 

The music, once loud as it echoed off the room’s walls and guided Wooyoung’s hips, seemed to fade away into the background, eclipsed in Wooyoung’s mind by thoughts of what Seonghwa’s perfect dick might feel like as it pushed inside of him, the fullness as he stretched him out. He wanted to watch Seonghwa unravel as he worked his dick inside of Wooyoung, he wanted to roll his hips and moan out his name, and—fuck, he was horny. 

He gagged slightly against Seonghwa’s dick as he began to fuck against his face, the head scraping against the roof of his mouth and prodding the back of his throat. Wooyoung pulled off, panting out shallow breaths, slightly disappointed in his lungs’ lack of endurance after so much lost practice time. 

Seonghwa didn’t seem to mind—his gaze harbored a hungry edge that spoke to the one-track they both had after a long night of tortuous teasing. And, for the love of god, Wooyoung wanted this man to destroy him. 

Seonghwa tugged him up to his feet without a word, and Wooyoung’s lips crashed against his. He draped his arms around Seonghwa’s neck, and his hands found Wooyoung’s waist in return, letting his fingernails scrape stinging crimson lines down his sides. Seonghwa undid his button with fumbling fingers, then hooked two fingers in his jeans and tugged, exposing Wooyoung’s own cock beneath his g-string. Wooyoung kicked his jeans off from around his ankles, tossing them somewhere into the purple ether. Wooyoung shoved his shoulders back with his palms, and Seonghwa fell to the couch, his ass bouncing back up as it connected with the plush velvet cushions. 

“You could get in a lot of trouble, pushing me around like that,” Seonghwa smirked, an underlying danger lacing his tone, but it was drowned by the lustful gaze that raked down Wooyoung’s body as he climbed on top of him.

“What, you gonna shoot me?” Wooyoung mocked, shooting a glance at the pistol teetering on the other end of the couch. 

Seonghwa ignored him. “End table, top drawer.” Wooyoung cocked his head to the side slightly. “The lube,” he clarified. 

There was clearly no more patience left in Seonghwa, hungry hands kneading into the flesh of Wooyoung's as he leaned his torso over the arm of the couch to fish in the drawer for the lube bottle. It made sense that they would keep lube in here—what were the private rooms on the already private VIP floor for anyway, if not fucking? Everything about it was indulgently sensual, the smooth bass of slow R&B rolling through the speakers and drowning the room with a tempting ambience. 

This room may have been built around Seonghwa, but Wooyoung was made to be fucked here. 

The lube felt cool and refreshing against Wooyoung’s fingertips as he squirted a generous glob from the bottle, then reached his hand back to circle his own rim. He pushed the first finger inside him, working it in slowly as he made eye contact with Seonghwa. If Seonghwa wanted a show, he’d get a show. 

Wooyoung let out a loud moan, already pushing a second finger in, impatient for the feeling of fullness he craved after so long. Seonghwa looked devastating in front of him, godly with the look of desire that shaded his features, flushed a tempting shade of magenta in the light. His once dangerous allure was eclipsed by the lust that glimmered in his eyes, the same primal need Wooyoung had.

“Enjoying—” Wooyoung pumped his fingers into the base, letting a lascivious moan drip off his tongue. “—the view?” 

A curse tumbled from Seonghwa’s lips in place of a response, accompanied by nails digging into Wooyoung’s ass, helping him spread apart to push a third finger in, and he took that as a _yes_. Another lewd moan slipped out.

“A bit of a whore, aren’t you, darling?” Seonghwa purred, cupping his finger below Wooyoung’s chin to lift his gaze up. He opened his mouth to respond, but only a whine slipped out as Seonghwa leaned in, capturing him in a kiss before sinking his teeth into Wooyoung’s lower lip. He pulled back with a tug, but kept close, letting his warm lips ghost over Wooyoung’s as he spoke. “So desperate to get off.”

Wooyoung spoke around panted breaths, three fingers still working deep inside him, stretching him out. “I wouldn’t say— _ah_ —I’m the desperate one…” 

“Mm, why’s that?”

“You were hard before I— _mm_ —even touched you.”

He watched Seonghwa’s eyes widen as he Wooyoung slipped his fingers out, finally managing to shut him up. He had no recourse—even though it was Wooyoung who initiated the sex in the first place, he’d felt Seonghwa growing firm from the first time he sat on his lap. 

“Tell me, _Hwa,”_ Wooyoung breathed, exaggerating the nickname his friends had used with him. He felt Seonghwa tense beneath him. “You were watching me when I first came in. Why?”

“I told you,” Seonghwa growled, lifting Wooyoung’s hips up from his lap and positioning his cock at his entrance, already slicked with a generous coating of lube. “I thought you might look pretty…” Wooyoung sank down on the head, feeling the head breach his rim, starting to swallow his cock as Seonghwa pushed his hips up. “...on my lap.”

“We both know that’s— _ah_ —a lie.”

Seonghwa gritted his teeth as he rutted his hips up, and Wooyoung braced against the back of the couch, palming at the velvet, damp and beaded with droplets of sweat.

“I know you thought about fucking me the minute I walked in,” Wooyoung panted against Seonghwa’s hair as he threw his head down, letting his chin rest against his shoulder to keep himself together as Seonghwa rolled his hips into him. “You thought about ruining me—mm, _fuck_ —you thought— _fuck_ —”

Seonghwa held Wooyoung’s hips tight as he fucked up into him, digging his fingernails into the meat of Wooyoung’s thighs. The music drowned away his thoughts, melding his words into a slur of curses and moans, unable to feel anything but _full._ Seonghwa didn’t reply either, and Woyooung couldn’t be sure if it was because he was right, or because he was too focused on the way Wooyoung bounced on top of his cock, rolling his hips in filthy motions and spilling out borderline-pornographic moans.

Wooyoung wasn’t always this loud when he was being fucked, but putting on a good show was the least he could do. This was his audition, after all—and, as a dancer, Wooyoung knew a thing or two about auditions. 

His body craved release, pent-up tension building in his core from not just the night’s worth of release, but the months he’d gone without being properly fucked. It was excruciating now, with the impressive length of Seonghwa’s cock thrusting into him, but he wasn’t done with his show just yet. 

He forced himself upright, pushing his hands away from the back of the couch. He braced his palms behind him against Seonghwa’s thighs, watching the look on Seonghwa’s face twist in amusement as he realized what was happening, stilling his hips as if he read Wooyoung’s mind. 

Riding cock was one of his many specialties. 

He maintained eye contact as he rocked his hips up and slammed them back down in a smooth rhythm, rolling his whole body again from chest to hips. He threw his head back with an erotic moan. He let his jaw stay tipped up, exposing his neck and the sharp cut of his jaw from below. Wooyoung wouldn’t have described himself as egotistical, by any means, but he did know how to work his assets in his favor. 

Seonghwa spat a string of curses under his breath, encouraging Wooyoung to keep his pace. He felt his own release building again, forming a knot in his core and threatening to spill over, still untouched.

To his surprise, his climax peaked before Seonghwa’s did, ribbons of hot come spilling out across their bodies and pooling against their stomachs. Relief swelled through his limbs, and his mind felt like it glitched as he reached his high, forgetting what a _real_ orgasm felt like after so long of going without. 

He felt Seonghwa claw at the underside of his thighs, the sting of his nails digging into his ass prompting him to slide off. As if he was holding it, Seonghwa spilled over the minute Wooyoung released off of him. Hot spurts of come painted his stomach and dribbled down the shaft, and _fuck_ if he didn’t look obscenely godlike as his face twisted in pleasure, head tilting back slightly, warm breaths washing over Wooyoung’s skin. 

Wooyoung collapsed on the couch neck to him as he struggled to catch his breath, the decadent velvet soothing his burning-hot skin, cool and soft against his aching body. His breaths came out heavy, and his core burnt from the exertion of the entire night, all suddenly compounding. He glanced over at Seonghwa, a mess of long limbs and heaving breaths. He looked a lot more human like this, but he still wore a confident air that Wooyoung found very, very attractive. 

Wooyoung carded a hand through his lavender hair, the strands damp and pieced together with sweat, before tossing his head back against the velvet. A sly smirk twitched up on his lips. “So, when do I start?”

♠

**Author's Note:**

> i have twt so if you want you can follow me @ yunsannies or take a look at my carrd <3 thanks for reading!


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